Adrift in the Past
by ValleyA
Summary: Peter feels out of sorts until he must make a dangerous rescue, bringing forth a long-lost memory.


**"Adrift in the Past"**

**by valleya**

Unable to stay inside his apartment any longer, Peter found himself at the lake, as if drawn there by forces greater than himself, though not even the warm spring sun was enough to override the agitation he'd felt building over the past few days. The worst part was his loss to understand why.

He couldn't blame it on work – that was going well. As were things with Kelly. At least, as smoothly as their relationship ever went. Yet, in his heart, there was a growing sense of ache and loss he couldn't put a label on.

"Come on, Peter, get a grip. You've got things you need to be doing, not wandering the park like a windup toy without an owner," he whispered under his breath as he looked around the lakeside park.

He scooped up a handful of small rocks from the path he was on and proceeded to Promontory Point, a popular spot among the visitors to the park – a scenic locale peering over the lake, its isolated beauty borne from the merging of land and water.

Peter stopped at the railing, trying to ignore the twenty-foot plunge below. The railing ensured his safety, but he didn't want to tempt fate by testing its strength. Heights had always been a frightening prospect to him.

Staring straight ahead, Peter studied the water's mesmerizing properties, willing the water's silent strength to settle his spirit in the way it usually did. It was early spring and the lake was filled to capacity from winter's melting snow. It seemed its added volume only increased its power over him.

He exhaled deeply, trying to physically expel whatever was bothering him, attempting to let the beauty of the lake to calm him, but it didn't work which only frustrated him further.

"Dammit, what the hell is wrong with me anyway?" he muttered to himself.

Angrily, Peter threw the stone in his hand as long and as hard as he could in another attempt to cast away his pent-up emotions. The rock sailed in a long sloping descent over the lake before it vanished in a muted splash.

This attempt failed in the same way as his first attempt had. The edgy discomfort he felt seemed like an old ache, something familiar but not comfortable – and the effect left him disconcerted. All he knew was that he didn't like it and he didn't know how to get rid of its growing presence.

Catching a glimpse of movement from the side, Peter swung around in time to see a leggy brunette in a multi-colored sweat suit jog pass him. She flashed him a big smile and waved. Winking, he returned the grin, but by the time she had rounded the bend in the trail, she was a forgotten treat, because his mind was back on his early morning encounter with Kelly.

**oOoOoOoOo**

_Kelly kissed him, rousing him from sleep._

_"Sorry, Peter, I didn't mean to wake you. I was just heading out for work," she said regretfully._

_He pulled her closer, eliciting a pleasured giggle from her as she toppled over and landed on top of him. _

_She pointed a finger at him. "You must not be awake yet, lover. I said I was _leaving _for work."_

_Peter's voice was still thick with sleep as he whispered, "Why don't you call in sick?"_

_Chuckling, she kissed the soft skin below his ear, and then she began to nibble on his earlobe. "We did that last week when you had a day off and I didn't. They might start to suspect I'm not really sick on those days."_

_"So, let them suspect." _

_He started to caress her, playing his fingers across areas of her body like she was a fine instrument, using the physical contact to make her blood run hot, in hopes of persuading her to stay home with him. _

_He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to be alone today. His efforts proved pointless when he felt her pull away. While keeping him at arm's length, she sat beside him on the bed, fussing with her hair._

_"No can do, Peter. I've got a big assignment today."_

_Peter rose up on his elbows, bringing his face closer to hers. As he came up, the blankets dropped away, revealing his bare chest. He smiled. Kelly was staring at him longingly, her eyes roaming over his muscular physique._

_"Having second thoughts?" he teased as he flexed his pectoral muscles and grinned rakishly. "Climb under these blankets with me and I'll give you a better show."_

_Kelly laughed and sprung forward to give him a quick, but passionate kiss. "I'd be destined for unemployment if I did that."_

_She stood, adjusting her clothing, and then checked her appearance in the mirror. Apparently, she was satisfied by what she saw. "Besides, I thought you had things you have to do today."_

_Peter sighed and dropped back to the pillows, pouting, and then he yawned a long, languorous yawn._

_"You didn't sleep much last night," Kelly said, concern evident in her voice. She took a step back closer to the bed. "Or the night before. What's going on, Peter?"_

_Peter rubbed his face, and the stubble of his unshaved chin distracted him for a moment as he considered Kelly's question. He wasn't having nightmares, but she was right. He hadn't been sleeping well all week, up for hours at a time after awakening from dreams that left him sad, disturbed and puzzled._

_Kelly moved back to his side, placing her hand on his chest, but the sexual thrill of the contact present moments earlier was now gone. She was simply one soul seeking to comfort another. _

_He took her in his arms without saying a word, just needing to feel her against his skin. Kelly must have sensed his need because she allowed his embrace to continue long after she normally would have. _

_In fact, she began to run her fingers through his hair in the same soothing way one would do with a distraught child. Peter found an odd comfort in the gesture before he was hit by a staggering wave of sadness and anger. _

_Without explanation, he pushed away from her in self-defense, trying to rein in the overwhelming emotions. When he realized what he'd done, he'd turned back to her and put out his hand in apology._

_"Kelly, I'm sorry," he started, but gauging by the look in Kelly's eyes, it was too late for an apology to fix the problem._

_She had taken Peter's initial reaction poorly, responding with greater anger as she stood and started for the door, only to stop abruptly. She spun back towards him, fiery emotion sparking from her eyes. "When you figure out what's going on in that crazy head of yours, will you let me know? Because I don't have time for this Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde crap! Dammit, I'm going to be late for work!"_

_She stormed out of the bedroom. "I said I'm sorry!" Peter called out as he fumbled with his blankets to get out of bed in time to catch her._

_He stopped when he heard the apartment door slam with enough force to make the windows rattle._

_And she said he had a fiery temper. _

_"Damn it, I _am_ sorry," he muttered as he sank back into bed._

_He replaced his blankets and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head._

**_o__OoOoOoOo_**

A woman's frantic scream pulled Peter from his dismal thoughts. The ring of panic in her voice contained grabbed Peter's attention as she repeated her call. "Payton!"

Spinning around, Peter saw the distraught young redhead wringing her hands before she cupped them around her mouth and yelled louder, "Payton!"

Taking a step in another direction, she screamed again. "Payton Maxwell!"

The woman's terror was almost palpable. Peter felt it reach into his own heart and squeeze hard. The remaining rocks slipped from his fingers, no longer important, and he took a step forward, intending to aid her search, but he stopped when he heard a soft cry coming from the tree branch above him.

"M-Mama!"

Peter's mouth dropped open when he saw a boy, probably four or five years old, crawling along on a branch ten feet above him and a dozen feet behind him. Basically, his position put him out over the water. The auburn-haired youngster had the same panicked expression on his face as his mother had and Peter could tell the child was moments away from losing it completely.

He put one hand up towards the boy and forced a smile. "Hey, Payton, slow down, buddy. Slow down. I'll get your mother over here and, together, we'll figure out how to get you down from there."

Peter deliberately kept his voice light and even as he eyed the boy's path from the low hanging branch at ground level to where he was currently perched.

_Man, I must have really been deep in thought not to hear this little guy climbing right over my head._

He pivoted, keeping his hand in the air, trying to keep Payton focused on anything except his precarious position. Quickly, he caught sight of Payton's mother and shouted, "Hey, he's over here! Payton's over here!"

Relief transformed the mother's fearful expression until she caught sight of Payton in the tree, and then a new form of terror tightened her features into a rigid mask. "Oh, dear God."

She began to run. Even though her body was moving, her gaze remained locked on her son.

Peter turned back to Payton, expecting to see him still hugging the tree branch, but instead he was moving to an upright position on one knee trying to wave at his mother.

"No, Payton, don't move!" Peter exclaimed.

The branch wasn't wide enough to support the shift in position and suddenly Payton was fighting to grab a better hold on the branch.

In a shriek only a mother could manage, Payton's mother screamed, "PAYTON! Don't move! Mommy's coming!"

The mother's shout did as intended, freezing the boy in place. Unfortunately, his momentum was already working against him. Peter's heart stopped as he saw the boy beginning to fall, and Peter's own phobia of heights kicked in, adding to the swirl of emotions already raging inside of him.

Peter's response was automatic. He began running, intending to catch the boy as he fell, only to stop short when his thoughts caught up with his adrenaline. The child wasn't going to hit the ground, he was already too far out on the branch that extended well over the lake's edge.

Shifting direction, Peter was already making silent calculations, even as he started moving again. As a frequent visitor to the park, Peter was well aware the lake was at least twenty feet deep where they were. The boy would hit the water, even though there was a narrow beach down below that hikers and beachcombers often used, but it was more inland because of the way the cliff turned inward at its base. No, there was a lot water for Payton to land in and that was the scary part. Peter had to get to him and fast.

Peter heard the boy's mother, calling Payton's name one last time in an anguished scream as he fell, spurring Peter to act. Her cry had barely died down as he threw her his cell phone and pulled off his leather jacket. He tossed the jacket aside and kicked off his shoes.

Peter spun around without waiting to see if she followed his order. "Call 9-1-1 now!"

As Peter sped to the tree the boy had fallen from, his thoughts were still racing. Payton didn't look old enough to know how to swim. Even if he did, the water's icy temperatures would soon incapacitate him. Spring was in the air, but not in the lake's chilly depths that were still frigid from winter's thawing snows.

"Save him!" the mother screamed as she picked up the cell phone. "Dear God, please save him!"

Peter reached a point on the branch where it could no longer easily carry his weight and he dove off from there. Realizing was he was doing, he closed his eyes as he plunged downward in an attempt to ignore the height he was diving from. At the last moment, as his body arced downward, he opened his eyes in time to spot Payton's head, bobbing up in the water before he went under again.

Echoing the mother's plea, Peter prayed without realizing he was praying. _Please, let me save him._

The frigid water hit Peter like a freight train but he barely noticed. All he cared about was returning to the surface. He began swimming upward, figuring Payton had a few minutes at the most before the cold would start shutting down the boy's muscles.

Peter's head crested the surface and he began to search. At first, he heard shouts that were hard to pinpoint because of the splashing water and the blood throbbing in his ears, and then he heard Payton's mother screaming.

"There! He's behind you! Turn around! Oh, please, hurry!"

Peter shifted around in the water, ignoring the early spasms of protesting muscles from the cold enveloping him. He gasped, his breathing ragged as he saw the little boy floating face down in the water.

Peter started to swim towards Payton's unmoving body, but it felt like he was swimming in place. Slowly, he made progress. In the short time it took Peter to reach the body, Peter had exhausted himself. He grabbed Payton's ice-cold arm, ignoring the disjointed coordination of his trembling muscles.

He turned the child over in the water and hugged him close. Sparing a quick glance at Payton, Peter instantly regretted it. The young boy's lips were turning blue and his complexion was deathly white.

The sounds of other people in the water echoed in the distance, and it told him help was on the way, but he was too busy looking for the nearest place along the shore where he could take Payton, instead of worrying about where the others were. After all, the clock was ticking. Payton only had minutes before he'd suffer brain damage or worse.

Swimming with an abbreviated breast stroke, Peter spoke to the small boy held tightly in his hold. "Come on, Payton, stay with me. Stay with me. Your mom is real scared right now and she needs your help."

Luckily, the lake was pretty calm, but Peter was unaccustomed to water rescue and he kept inhaling water when he swung his arm back around for the next stroke. Coughing to expel as much as he could, he saw the closest inlet allowing access wasn't far at all. But it loomed as though it was miles off.

Tucking Payton more firmly in his grip, he growled, "Dammit, Payton, you aren't going to do this! Dying is not allowed! You're going to live, you hear me! Fight to get back to your mom again! She loves you! Fight!"

Peter's anger spurred him into swimming faster. Knowing other people had jumped into the water and were swimming towards him gave him a flash of community pride, but they were too far away to help much, and their heroic attempts would be pointless if it didn't involve getting help to Payton any faster.

He heard sirens in the distance and he sighed with the relief of knowing emergency personnel would soon be on hand. Now, if he could only swim faster.

He kicked his feet and swam with all his heart. Finally, he reached the rocky shoreline and was greeted by people awaiting his approach. They were scattered along the rocks, ready to form a human chain to transport the unmoving boy to firm ground and to his mother who was crying hysterically.

Peter tried to wade out of the water by himself but couldn't, so he reluctantly treaded water while a few of the people came out from the shore. He tried to speak to them, but instead he was wracking with coughing. They gently took Payton from Peter, passing the boy from one to the next, up from the rocks to safety without a word.

Peter's coughing slowed a little as Payton was taken to the narrow strip of beach, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder, startling him back to his own situation. Turning, he saw it was the beautiful dark-haired jogger from the trail earlier and a bald stranger on the other of him, both encouraging him to be the next to scramble up the rocks, but their expressions were still haunted by the same fear he had, namely the distinct possibility Payton wasn't going to survive. After all, he'd fallen twenty feet into frigid lake water.

"Go on, get out of this icy water, buddy. You're white as a ghost," the bald man encouraged, his own voice trembling from the cold.

Peter nodded as his gaze went back to the crowd now gathered around Payton and his mother. Already, there was a uniformed cop trying to push the group back, but the unfolding drama was too compelling for any of them to obey. How did so many people make it down to the beach so fast?

Peter heard many things above his chattering teeth: the squawking of a police radio and the distant sound of more squad cars approaching, the murmurs of the gathering crowd, the birds overhead disturbed by the commotion, the motor of a boat out on the lake, but the one sound that cut through everything was the sobbing of Payton's mother.

It was the sound of a woman who knew her son was going to die, and it cut straight to Peter's heart, awakening a very old memory. Peter had no choice but to be pulled back to a forgotten time and place.

_**oOoOoOoOo  
**_

_"Peter! Don't move! Do you hear me, honey, do NOT move!" _

_Peter's mother turned to look away from Peter at something far to Peter's left side. "Oh, Kwai, he's going to fall!" _

_Peter's mother's voice reverberated with more fear than Peter ever remembered hearing before._

_Peter tried to remain still, but he couldn't help it. The ground underneath him was slipping. He began to slide down the rocky incline, gravel and plants moving with him until he came to an abrupt stop about thirty feet down from their picnic site. _

_His little fingers grasped for something to hold onto and he was surprised when he actually came to a stop. Holding on tighter to the fragile roots in his fingers, Peter peered over the narrow wisp of rock he'd landed on and saw it was all that had kept him from plunging into the unknown. From his new position, he was surrounded by mountain wilderness and below was a steep cliff – a granite edge perfectly and vertically straight as it plunged down into a dark abyss._

_"M-Mama?" his young voice quivered with fear._

_"Peter, stay there. Your father is coming out to get you," she stammered. _

_Her hair fluttered in the wind and he could see she was fighting tears, but her attempt to be strong for him only scared him more. "Mama, I'm afraid!"_

_"It's okay, honey," she said lovingly, her eyes darting to the side as she watched something beyond Peter's field of vision._

_"Let's sing your favorite song, Peter. Can you sing with me?" _

_Craning his neck, Peter finally saw what his mother was looking at. His father was working his way down to him. Peter's heart leapt in his chest. His father didn't have any roots to hold onto, yet he was still moving, as if by magic. His miraculous father would save him. Peter was sure of it._

_Peter's mother began singing and Peter couldn't help but glance up at her. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." _

_Peter smiled, despite his fear, because it was their favorite song. The two of them sang it at least once a day, sometimes a dozen times. His mother's voice broke and was barely audible at times, but it was as beautiful as anything he'd ever heard._

_Peter joined in after the first phrase and her singing grew stronger and more sure. _

"You make me happy when skies are gray."

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

_His mother's expression contorted with the last phrase, and then she shook her head like she was pushing back her fears. _

_Her quivering lips broke in a broad smile and she began to sing louder as she clapped in time to the music. Her enthusiasm was infectious and he increased his volume as they repeated the song again._

_"That's it, Peter! Keep it up!" she encouraged._

_Before Peter knew it, a hand gripped his shoulder and he looked up to see his father looming over him like a guardian angel. Peter stopped singing and wrapped himself around his father as he was picked up off the ground. _

_His father held him for a very long time before he whispered tearfully, "I love you, Peter."_

_Peter refused to let go of him and whispered back, "I love you, too, Father."_

_**oOoOoOoOo  
**_

A hand on Peter's shoulder squeezed tighter before shaking him to get his attention.

"Hey, handsome, you s-still w-with us?"

Peter turned numbly to see jogger treading water beside him, her peaked expression dark with concern as she waited for his reply. The bald man on his other side didn't bother to wait. He scooped Peter up with one arm around his chest and called for help from the shore.

"I think this guy is going into shock or something!"

Peter tried to move, and then tried to speak, looking for any way to tell the people around him he was okay, but he couldn't, mostly because he was wracked again with coughing. What was worse, his body refused to obey his orders and his trembling grew more intense, becoming painful as he tried to resist the involuntary movement.

He felt himself being practically carried to solid ground, his feet mostly dragging along the rocks. He was covered with jackets and a picnic blanket. The two who had been in the water with him were also treated in the same way by other strangers. Yet, all Peter could think of was Payton.

He couldn't see a blasted thing, because the other people were in the way and he couldn't seem to move. Peter shivered with the tremendous intensity of his sense of cold as previously numb muscles came to life with a vengeance. His thoughts were foggy and all he wanted to do curl up and get warm again.

There was a long shriek of horror that filled the air, silencing the crowd with a stab of fear. Peter didn't need to look for its source. He had heard that kind of cry before. It was the lamentation of the grieving; a humbling, gut-wrenching keening to which there was no human consolation available.

Peter closed his eyes out of respect for the grieving, himself included. He was awash in bitter disappointment, but then anger overtook and empowered him with unexpected strength. Filled with illogical determination, Peter told himself Payton wasn't going to die. Not that day. Not after they had come so close to saving him.

Most everyone there was distracted by the tragedy of the moment, lost in the horror of a life lost so young, but adrenaline coursed through Peter's system. Somehow, he slipped by the people tending to him as they stared in Payton's direction. Peter stumbled along, forcing his way through the crowd, who tended to move aside on their own when they saw it was Peter coming through. He kept going until he saw Payton's mother kneeling at her son's side.

Instead of wearing the devastating expression of grief, there was hope in her petite features and she seemed to be holding her breath in anticipation. Peter took one more step before he recognized his father, Kwai Chang Caine, was directly across from Payton's mother, attending to the child.

Peter covered the remaining distance between them in long, unsteady steps. He dropped to his knees beside his father and watched with wide eyes as his father performed his Shaolin magic. Far away, Peter was aware the sirens had stopped. Help was there, but Peter had more confidence in his father's practices.

His father's eyes were closed as he held his hands inches above Payton's limp body, slowly moving up and down over the tiny form. Finally, he rubbed his hands together and started to massage the boy's legs, working his way up the body, stopping with his hands on Payton's chest.

Peter was caught up in the drama, breathing hard, especially when his own body shook with fearsome intensity. It became so pronounced that he could no longer ignore it. He wrapped his arms around his chest and then a well-meaning bystander draped a blanket around his shoulders, though Peter barely acknowledged its presence. His attention was riveted on his father and Payton.

Finally, he glanced across Payton and caught the mother's fearful stare, her bright eyes turning mournful again as hope began to fade from them, only to be replaced by tears of sorrow.

Suddenly, Peter heard a slight cough and a gasp for air. His gaze darted down in time to see Payton moving. The boy coughed and Peter's father helped turn Payton's head to the side as water gushed from his mouth, and then Payton started crying. A cheer went up in the crowd around them – a group that had gone eerily silent was now ecstatic as they saw the boy miraculously brought back from death.

The boy's mother scooped Payton up into her arms and wept with joy.

Peter's father slumped slightly, his work now complete for the moment. The newly arrived paramedics pushed their way in and began checking vitals as Peter and his father were pulled in separate directions.

Peter recognized the cop pulling him to his feet. It was Mike Dante, a cop who had once worked at the 101st. "Come on, Pete, enough grandstanding, let the professionals do their thing," he said softly as he wrapped another blanket around Peter's trembling shoulders.

"Geez, you're ice cold," he said, rubbing Peter's hands briskly.

"I'm f-fine," Peter mumbled, feeling terribly weak now the adrenaline had passed.

"You do this kind of thing every day?" Mike quipped. "What? Are you some kind of Superman?"

The policeman tried to sound nonchalant, but the tone in his voice told Peter the big guy had been deeply affected by the miracle witnessed. In the next instant, Officer Dante's expression darkened with worry when Peter's knees buckled and he sank to the ground. "Hey, Superman, you're looking pretty pale."

Dante whistled to another cop a few feet from him, who was pushing back the crowd from the EMT's trying to work. "Get a medic over here. I think Caine's going into shock."

Turning back to Peter, Dante softened his tone and said, "Come on, Peter, talk to me."

Peter was distantly aware of the conversation, but his attention was on his father. He'd caught a glimpse of his father being helped to his feet after saving Payton's life, only to require help to walk, and then the crowd shifted and Peter couldn't see him any longer.

"P-Pop? Pop, can you hear me?" Peter shouted, distantly surprised by the weakness in his own voice.

"Pop!" he called hoarsely, this time forcing more strength into his voice, but it still wasn't much.

"Hey, Pete, cut it out," Dante said softly as he tried to restrain Peter, but Peter was wet, slippery, and determined.

As if by a miracle, Peter managed to pull himself to a wobbly standing position, using Dante for balance and leverage. He tried to force himself past the big bear of a cop holding him back, but his knees buckled again and the scene around him began to spin.

With compassion, Dante held onto Peter as Peter struggled to keep from passing out, and said, "Peter, calm down. Your father isn't in danger. You need to be thinking of yourself."

Peter's thoughts clouded with unstoppable anxiety and the cold seemed to be seeping into his soul. "F-Father!" he shouted in a tone even more desperate than before.

Peter drew a ragged breath, trying to find the strength within him to move, but it was getting harder and harder to think straight. All he knew was he had to make sure his father was okay. Amid the chaos, a gentle hand caressed his shoulder.

"P-Pop," he murmured with a deep sigh, knowing without question that the hand belonged to his father.

"My son," Kwai Chang whispered softly as he drew Peter into a hug, gently lowering him to the ground.

Immediately, blankets were spread over him and Peter melted into his father's warm embrace, refusing to let go of him, as if he was three years old again, clinging to the guardian angel who had just saved his life. But this time his father hadn't saved him, instead it was a little tyke named Payton Maxwell.

Peter could hear Payton's mother sobbing again. Now, the sobbing was from tears of relief. Peter had a flash of insight in hearing her joyful cry. His previous agitation and discord suddenly found a name and it all revolved around the loss of his own mother.

Peter felt his face contort with the revelation and his own tears began to fall. Tears of relief that Payton had been saved mixed with tears of sorrow decades old over his mother's death, returning as if they had never shed before. Peter let them fall for a moment, but then he brushed them away with irritation.

"Is he okay?" Dante asked his father. "The medics will be here in a sec."

Peter saw his father nod, but there was a hint of hesitation or maybe it was just concern.

Peter pulled away slightly from his father, but his cold, trembling body left his movements quivering with a will of their own. His father tucked the blankets more tightly around Peter's torso and legs, and peered deeply into his son's eyes.

Peter's teeth chattered loudly as his father reached under the blankets and took one of Peter's hands in his. His father's hands felt like little ovens slowly bringing life to his fumbling fingers. "Be still, my son," his father whispered in a soothing tone as he closed his eyes. "Allow me to help you."

A warm sensation began to travel from Peter's hands to the rest of his body, quieting the chill in his bones with its comforting heat. The effect elicited a deep sigh of relief from Peter as he began to relax with the sensation, but it went more than warmth. There was strength, peace and serenity passing through him, too. He was still cold, but not unbearably so.

_If only Pop could do something about this ache inside of me as easily,_ Peter thought as he sagged, feeling like he was melting butter sinking into the sand. He felt his father's forehead brush against his, and then it lingered there for a long moment.

Pulling back, Peter looked into his father's hazel eyes, searching for answers to the questions of his heart, but knowing all he really needed was the presence of the man before him – the man who had been taken away from him for much too long, but was now thankfully back again.

His father seemed drained when he looked back at Peter, but he was clearly relieved. He smiled as he brought a hand to Peter's damp cheek. Peter leaned into the comforting warmth, closing his eyes as he reveled in the contact. "You have reunited a mother and a son, Peter."

Peter opened his eyes to see the stretcher carrying Payton move past them, surrounded by officers and paramedics. The mother was holding onto Payton's hand as she flashed him a grateful smile.

"Thank you and may God bless you for saving my son," she said tearfully before busying herself with getting Payton to the hospital.

Something in her expression of pure joy touched Peter's heart, easing the very ache that had brought him to the lake in the first place. Peter watched Payton and his mother, along with the entourage taking him to the hospital, until they disappeared around a corner.

"I am very proud of you," his father said, still fussing with the blankets covering Peter.

Like he'd done with Kelly earlier in the day, Peter glanced up at him in surprise as a strange kind of anger overtook him. His body suddenly went tense, and Peter nearly forgot about the trembling, burning, and tingling in his muscles. "You – you were the-the one t-to save him, P-Pop! I only – only brought him t-to s-shore!"

Peter's head dipped down in defeat. "If you hadn't b-been there, P-Pop, P-Payton wouldn't be – he wouldn't be alive n-now," he stammered, shame ringing in his voice.

All the sadness and agitation Peter had felt over the past week was now swelling up into a rising tide of angst, leaving Peter awash in an inexplicable wave of furious sadness. Within its cresting swell was the image of his mother, Laura Caine singing to him, trying to be brave for him. The fact that he had lost her so long ago without ever really getting to know her now caused bitter tears to burn in his eyes.

Embarrassed at his lack of control, Peter swiped at the tears, his self-directed anger turning on himself in that flash. _Man up, Caine, _he thought._ She was dead and buried a long time ago._

His father took Peter's hands in his again and his father's voice was barely above a whisper, but he spoke with determination as he said, "You think it is strange to feel such strong emotions after all this time, but you are wrong."

Peter's head snapped up towards his father in surprise. "Wh-what do you m-mean?" he asked softly, wondering how his father would explain his eerily accurate statement.

Before he answered Peter, his father sent that miraculous warmth coursing through Peter's system again. With it came peace, drawing Peter away from his inner turmoil.

"You are wrong to think that time should cause the ache of loss to vanish. She was your mother and she will always be a part of you."

Peter looked away from him, unable to tolerate the compassion in his father's expression. He choked back a sob, blinking away threatening tears as he heard his father say in a softer tone, "Time softens the ache, but nothing can cause it to vanish. I know, my son, because the ache is still within my own heart."

Peter paused to look at his father – to _really _looked at him and what he saw didn't encourage him. His father seemed so drained as he slowly straightened and flexed his shoulders, which alarmed Peter. Damn it, his father had just resuscitated Payton and given him a boatload of chi that had warmed and strengthened him. What if he'd given away too much of his chi?

But then, Dante was back at Peter's side. "Okay, time's up, Caine, more paramedics are arriving. Let them do their job and don't give them any guff. That boy you saved is in good hands and on his way to the hospital. It's time to think about yourself."

Peter shook his head. "Not n-now, D-Dante. Give – give me a moment. I'm t-talking to my f-father about something – s-something important."

Dante's mouth gaped open. "You look like death warmed over. Use some common sense. You can talk later, damn it."

Peter shook his head again and reached out with one hand. "P-Pop, p-please t-tell him t- to wait a sec."

His father only shook his head and moved back. Peter decided his thinking was closer to the truth than his father wanted to admit, namely he had overextended himself in helping others. "Listen to him, Peter. Now is not the time for conversation," he said weakly.

The icy waters and damp clothes had stolen most of Peter's strength, but he struggled, despite it. The newly arrived paramedics had moved into the places his father and Dante had just occupied.

"We've got to get those wet clothes off of him," someone, probably one of the paramedics, said with authority. Peter could barely keep his eyes open.

Dante's voice boomed from a short distance away. "If he fights you, sedate him!" Then, there was Dante's classic chuckle.

Peter was vaguely aware of his clothes being cut away. He was so cold he barely noticed the change after they'd removed everything but his underwear. Hands lifted him up and onto a stretcher, and then what must have been chemical heat packs were tucked under his armpits and around his groin. Finally, he was covered with a several blankets.

He caught sight of his father again and sighed with relief. His father's coloring was better now and his features weren't as drawn as before. He had his hat on again and his satchel was over his shoulder in his usual fashion. All in all, he looked back to normal. That was good. Now, Peter could relax.

The paramedics were taking his vital signs while asking him endless questions. He must have drifted off at one point, because one of the paramedics patted his cheek and told him, "You can't go to sleep, buddy. Not until we get you stabilized. So, get used to staying awake right now."

They started an IV. As Peter felt the pinch of the needle, the darkhaired jogger passed by with the help of an officer. Her hair hung in long clumps and she had blankets around her, too, but to Peter she was still beautiful. She waved at him and then disappeared from sight.

Soon, they had him loaded him into the ambulance. Peter smiled when his father climbed into the ambulance to sit beside him. The engine of the ambulance turned over and its wheels soon began moving as the siren started.

"D-Do we really n-need that?" Peter asked with a sigh.

The paramedic riding with him shrugged. "You're not in critical condition at the moment. I guess not. Your body temperature should be much, much lower, given your time in that ice water."

He leaned forward. "Hey, Joey, cut the horn."

Peter's father took one of Peter's hands and held it. His expression, which was typically enigmatic, now seemed tired and sad.

Ignoring the paramedic, who was adjusting Peter's IV and making notes of Peter's vital signs, Peter asked, "W-what is it, P-Pop?"

His father only shrugged. Peter tapped the fingers of his free hand on the nearby rail. He knew something was up. Something major. Peter's voice was still hoarse from his ordeal and now there was a tremor of grief as he licked his lips and asked, "I know t-this is a wild g-guess, but is t-today t-the anniversary of her – her death?"

Kwai Chang nodded and Peter closed his eyes.

A moment later, Peter nodded as he accepted his father's confirmation as truth. Now, the unexplained emotions of the past few days suddenly made perfect sense. But how the hell was his heart aware of the date and his brain not?

Kwai Chang tightened his grip on Peter's hand. Peter felt his chin quiver as he met his father's gaze. Peter whispered, "But – but I barely remember her, and t-the memories I have are so v-vague, like wisps of smoke d-disappearing in the wind. Why-why am I f-feeling so much p-pain now? She's been d-dead a very long t-time."

His father peered into his son's eyes as he settled into his seat. "You remember more than you know. With each memory, it will have to be approached as both a child and an adult visiting that time. You must grieve in your own way, my son, but grief is not a bad thing. Grief allows us to let go of the pain while keeping the good memories."

Again, the ache within him seemed to ease with his father's words of reassurance.

His father smiled and asked, "Are you all right, my son?"

With a soft sigh of exhaustion, Peter smiled, meeting his father's gaze more easily this time. "Yeah, I am. Just knowing there's another mother and son who won't be separated way too early in life makes me feel a hell of a lot better."

He scratched at his forehead and yawned deeply. Apparently, his body was warming up and the effect was lulling him into sleep. He wanted to ask his father one more thing before he drifted away completely.

"Pop?" he called out weakly.

"Yes, my son," his father responded immediately.

Peter forced his eyes open, clasping Kwai Chang's hand in his as tightly as he could. "She's still – still with us, isn't she?" he whispered, "I mean, she'll n-never really leave our hearts."

His father's worried features softened with a glowing smile and he placed his other hand over Peter's hand and patted it gently. "Yes, Peter, that is true. She will always live in our hearts."

Peter licked his lips, and drew in a breath as he added, "Then, t-there isn't much t-to grieve, is there?"

Tears clouded his father's eyes as he gave Peter a quick nod of agreement.

"I'm tired, Pop. I'm g-gonna sleep, but when I wake up, I want to talk about her some more."

The paramedic came back to life, setting aside his log book. "Oh, no sleeping allowed until you get checked out by the doc. Sorry."

"Sure," Peter said, but he knew he wouldn't make it all the way to the hospital without drifting off at least once.

His father winked at him and Peter closed his eyes, feeling the swell of heartwarming emotions pass through their clasped hands. The turmoil within him was now finally gone, disappearing with the revelation that what he thought had been lost had always lived within his heart. His mother would always be there for him whenever he called upon those cherished memories.

His last conscious thoughts were of her singing, _"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."_

He smiled in the warmth of that recollection, her loving song chasing away any remaining cold and angst in his system, and he basked in its radiance.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**The End**


End file.
